Through times of unbalance
We stand on weighty scales
Pondering each side
Which wins, which fails
The sun goes down each day
Like an anchor in the sea’s floor
We graciously abide with less, while needing more
Smiles of momentary bliss flow
Though not many deeply know
One reality from another
In the life of a strange mother

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The next morning came as usual with Linda not realizing that she had fallen asleep on top of the covers. With a groggy head, she headed for the shower to wash away the dizzying high that had apparently lasted during her deep slumber. It was Saturday which was always her day to go and get her daughter from her mother who lived only about half an hour away. It was a neighborhood that was slightly better than the one she grew up in. Sheralyn now lived in a house which was improvement number one. Where Linda had grown up was a horse of a different color in that their front yard consisted of the dirty confined space in front of their trailer. Sheralyn had an actual lawn now. The environment was not plagued with chemically dependent individuals who had time bombs for tempers, and the area was clean. Everyone pretty much minded their own business with the exception of that one nosy neighbor that most neighborhoods have the pleasure of knowing, even if not by choice.

While brushing her hair back and binding it with a scrunchy into the usual ponytail that she wore daily unless she was going out for a night of fun, Linda thought back to the small dorm sized refrigerator that housed eggs, milk, ice cream, and not much else. Although they also kept an ample supply of potato chips, boxed cakes, and canned meats in their little cabinet, the idea of home cooked meals was a mere fantasy because back then, they never knew when they would have to pack their garbage bags and boxes, head out, and leave for another trailer.

Linda truly felt that her mom wanted to do better in those days because she eventually did, but at that time, it was easier said than done. Her father – Stanley Wright, had been working for a local mechanic shop that helped him to provide somewhat, but he did not feel that what they had in their small abode was enough, and when he decided to hook up with some fellows in the park to run a lab in one of the vacant trailers, things were good need-wise, but this ride was short-lived. Linda was sure that her sister just as she would never forget the day that the NARCS burst through their door and made everyone inside lay face down – guns in position while other officers tore their home apart creating much more clutter than what already existed, and later handcuffing her dad (who had nowhere to hide) and taking him away. With no money for his wife to bail him out, it was the last day that Linda remembered seeing her father. With a charge of five years, there was no way that Sheralyn could help him, and over that five year span, Sheralyn and her children assumed that Stan had gone on with his life somewhere else, with someone else…with a new life…somehow.

Despite Stan’s angry outbursts of frustration that often became violent – however, brief incidents involving Sheralyn, Linda had vowed to herself the day that she turned fourteen that no man would ever treat her that way. “One hell of a birthday gift.” Linda thought aloud. Her torn feelings about her parents’ actions and her love for her otherwise happy-go-lucky but seriously paranoid father crept up through the back stairwell of her memories like a medieval king shouting death penalizing orders from his throne to armored knights who would drag a fort encamped kingdom invader to the guillotine to suffer his inevitable demise. “His severed head on a platter is my wish.”, the king would say as Linda imagined her dad’s loud yells at herself, sister, and mother to just sit down and shut the fuck up for a friggin’ minute so that he could friggin’ hear himself think. If there had only been shouts and yells, Linda felt that they all could have dealt with these outbursts a little easier had it not been for the whiskey bottles, ammonia containers, shoes, and anything else that he could get his hands on to throw before ultimately knocking her mother off of her feet just before profusely apologizing to the two young girls who were forced to watch in horror.

During these incidents, Sheralyn would usually get herself up as quickly as possible to show her girls that she wasn’t actually hurt, but the truth rang loudly when on this particular occasion, she did not rise immediately and Linda’s older sister ran to a neighbor to get help. All in all, Sheralyn never made a trip to the hospital in hopes that she would prevent her children from being taken away. Linda remembered her mother sitting while holding an ice pack on her face as she and her sister sang “Happy Birthday”. Stan had stormed out in frustration and did not return until the next morning.

Her mother was determined that a better life, environment, and day would come to them if she could only make it ‘this time.’ Sheralyn would explain to the girls on those nights that though things looked bad, she still loved them and that their lives would get better.

Though they were young, Linda and Sheryl knew full well that their mother had gotten herself into a situation that was practically impossible to get out of, but with their mother’s constant and seemingly empty explanations, they still had hope that what she was telling them would one day come to pass.

With a splash of cold water from the bathroom tap and a shake of her head, Linda washed away the negatives that always greeted her in the mirror each morning. Showered, dressed, and without a second thought, Linda made her way to the kitchen for a glass of juice before taking off for her mom’s house. “Shit…should’a known better…I’ll just stop and get some on the way back.” Grabbing her purse and heading for the front door, Linda knew that Donny had left the empty jug of orange juice lying dormant in the refrigerator. It didn’t matter…she’d had her good time too, but by it being the weekend, she would need another jug for them both. The apartment complex was enough for their lifestyle accompanied by occasional parties, gatherings, and important company, but she still hoped for something better just like her mom, and she would have it someday…by any means necessary.

She did not deserve to wait endlessly whether Donny worked his ass off or not, she needed more – she and her baby would get it – as soon as she could manage, and in the meantime, she would make sure that while Brianne was in her custody she would eat as well there as she did while at her mom’s house. “M’kay, gotta stop at the store too, no biggie.” All plans in order, Linda had made her way down the stairs and to her car with her thoughts clear and ready for the day ahead.

Donny’s Night…

His confusion and unease had finally simmered once he’d had enough drinks. The orange juice was gone and there was just enough vodka for one more drink, but at that time, he did not feel like travelling the five-minute walk to the store for more. He knew that Linda had to go get Brianne from her grandmother’s house and upon noticing, would also stop for more juice. By the same token, he realized that Linda knew that he would be bringing in a fresh bottle of vodka along with other treats. Although he had enjoyed the buzz from the night before, he did not end up falling asleep, but rather up with pen and pad which sat on his end table to hurriedly jot his thoughts until he could get to his father’s house to file his entries and save them. He could not wait for the day to come when he had his own laptop where he could continue building his collection of rhymes, and hopeful lyrics that he dreamed would someday become a reality once published and accepted by any famous producer or at least anyone – famous or not – who was willing to hire him as a songwriter.

His father did not support him or his dreams except for allowing him to save his weekly entries as long as he promised not to post anything publicly. “I know I raised you better than this boy! Why can’t you just face facts and get into the business like I’ve worn my head grey trying to convince you for the past seven years? It’s just no damn sense talking to you, so go on and write your little words, so you can get the hell outta here! How can I call you my son when I have to watch you screw up your life day after day? Well…know this…you will either shit or get your ass off of the damn pot, cause I’ll be damned if I’ll give you another stinkin’ penny when you’re hell-bent on layin’ up with that tramp thinkin’ I’m gonna keep helping you. Write your shit and be gone!”

He listened to the same lecture each weekend, but Donny dealt with it along with swiping up the rubber bands from newspaper subscriptions that his father so graciously elected to save for him which would be lying on his kitchen table. As weird as it seemed to him, Donny accepted his father’s rejection, anger, and collection of rubber bands knowing that he had committed an unforgivable sin in not following his footsteps in the family business, but his words as Donald Sr. called them had led him to instead follow his heart and mind. It was a fact of life that could not be helped.

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Choosing Happy Memories on Father’s Day – Part 2

Soooo, I checked my mirrors while still head-bobbing to the beat of whatever was playing. I could feel the bass vibrations as the reflection of my dad showed his calm yet attentive stance, arms folded, head shaking in a slow ‘no’ motion.

It was that familiar expression he always gave while watching someone being hell-bent and determined to make a valuable accomplishment by way of being stupid due to ignoring mentoring advice from a wiser source.

I was happy…excited even and ready to make my move backwards into the same parking space that had somehow in the span of about an hour become a major challenge for my seventeen-year-old at-that-very-moment-happy-go-lucky-as-hell self. I knew that I could do it.

Despite the warning signal of the ‘no’ from my dad, I was ready and willing to succeed, so I hit the gas pedal ever so slightly and began to make my way in between the two lines indicating that I had indeed positioned myself correctly.

I pressed down a little more on the gas (music still bumping) and I thought that I heard something like a bump so I naturally assumed that I had hit the darned walkway again.

No problem…I‘m in straight, so all I need to do is pull up just a little bit, but to be sure that Daddy knows that I know what I’m doing, I’ll just do it over again.

I was not phased by a long-shot. Nothing could stop me now, because I really did know what I was doing…I just had to prove it this time!

Mirrors checked – I know where I am…my brain is now ready to send necessary signals for the purpose of coordination strategies as I have pulled all the way out of the space just to show what I have learned.

I reverse again and proceed back and whip the car (not a brand new one THANK GOD!) back into the parking space perfectly this time…windows still vibrating…I had done it! I even moved a little faster this time because I knew that my positioning was on point! “Whooooo!”

I looked into my side mirror in search of a thumbs up from my dad only to have the exhilarated exclamation upon my success instantly turn into worried curiosity! Where was he?

Maybe he went to take a pee around back, but to be sure, I looked into the rear view mirror and then the passenger side mirror which is when the horror began. He was on his hands and knees with his head hung down looking so helpless – SHHHHIT!!! I had run my dad DOWN!

I put the car in park and flung the door open to run to him as he fell over onto his side and rolled over on his back with one arm holding his mid-section and the other arm flailing haphazardly with no specific determination.

I bent over him as my inner self exclaimed approximately five OMG’s in a row at lightening speed just before I asked if he was okay. He said nothing – only rolling from one side to the other with some type of wincing expression on his face that I had never seen…he was in pain!

I didn’t know what to do as the days of cell phones had not yet arrived and I thought about driving somewhere to get help, but that would take too long.

My heart was beating so fast that I thought I would collapse right beside him, but I had to keep my composure and get him to say something. “Daddy! Please say something! I’m so sorry I hit you, but please get up!”

The flailing hand began to wave a stopping motion and he finally spoke to me saying, “Please, Please!Stop talking! I’m not hurt but – ” “But Daddy, I hit you, and if I don’t get some kind of help you’re gonna die!!”

I was in tears and so was he, but somehow he was able to reply, “Yea child, I am dying but not because you hit me, I’m laughing myself to death! – Look over there!” He pointed in the direction where the driving center’s garbage dumpsters were.

There were two of them, and they were crushed between the wall of the building and…

my car.

The music was still playing – loudly.

I was confused now. All coordination and fearless indignation aside, I asked my dad once again if he was sure that he was all right.

He begged me yet again to not say anything because if I didn’t stop it, he would surely die right there and he didn’t want me to have to drive home. I could clearly see now that he was overcome by a serious bout of uncontrollable laughter to the point of tears and a stomach ache which was obvious by him having to speak to me between catching a much-needed breath.

“How in the world did you do that?” He had managed to get back on his knees in hopes of getting up when I asked, “Do what?” The laughing started again in the midst of a quick but earnest prayer for the Lord to pleasesend him some help to get off of the ground.

I’m guessing that a light bulb must have popped on at some point and I helped my dad up, but he just had to do an impromptu ‘show and tell’ of my little mishap. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that in all of my years, and you did it twice! Just look at what you did to these folks stuff!”

I really looked this time and reality began to set in for me then as Daddy explained how I had backed into the dumpsters, pulled up, and ran into them yet again only harder the second time.

After putting the poor innocent bystanders who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time during my plight back where they belonged, now battered and bruised, we made it back to the car and my father of course insisted that he drive home while still laughing and catching his breath. “Well, I thought I heard a little bump at one time…” I tried to explain, but he would have none of it.

He stressed his wishes of me not saying anything more on the way home so that there would be no more accidents and that it would also be wise if I would refrain from iterating this unfortunate incident to anyone that I intended to take for a ride in the future. “I knew you should’ve turned that mess down, but I had to let you do it your way and now you know better don’t you. Just talk to your momma about it, but other than that, this will be our little secret…”

“Okay daddy…our little secret.”

We both wiped tears of laughter from our faces, he turned the radio to a gospel station – “For safety purposes,” he said jokingly, and we were on our way home.

Once there, the laughing began again – me, Momma, and Daddy…we all agreed that I need not broadcast the story until much later once my ‘attention skills’ had improved.

That day, my dad told me that he had never laughed that hard before in his entire life and that I never had to worry about giving him a Father’s Day gift, because that day would last forever.

Now that I have written this post, I can’t help but imagine him, my mom and their best friends with them in Paradise…cracking their sides laughing right now.

I am glad that I chose happy memories today, and I hope that all readers can celebrate this day with love and much laughter.

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Copyright Notice for Charlene Woodley, Brighter Poetics, 2012-2013

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